Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 More Glee
At the bar in the middle of a wide river, we're drinking
lards heated on the stove.
The bartender spoke up and said, "Yeah, well, drip, drip,
drip." We all fell down, uh-huh!
To swimming pools of black, bubbly booze we give our
hearts and close our eyes.
When it's dark we'll hardly notice. The river flows till
well after dark.
Drinking rusty water from dry and dusty lips, winding
down and falling down, I make my wine from fish.
By ten o'clock there will be no more. I'll be sipping at
the floor. I've finally spoken to my dessert plate and
it's finally starting to see that the mold that's grown
is only its own. It'll put no fat on me.
I've distilled from past events and the passing of events
a single long and satisfying burp.
More glee. More glee.
In the middle of a crisis I lose my nerve. Please kill me
now.
